


I Never Meant

by 13letters



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Broken Hearts, Cassian is trying to get over his ex., Dysfunctional Family Values, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Orphans, Pain, Taco Bell, baby baby baby, finding nemo - Freeform, single dad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-03-25 14:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13837128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13letters/pseuds/13letters
Summary: To him, only four things are certain:1. Poe believes that he will swirl down the shower drain with the soapy suds and rubber duck if someone isn't standing there with him. Cassian left the bathroom for only a minute, like -- fucking three seconds -- to get his phone, and Poe screamed so loudly that the couple in the neighboring complex came to the door with the stern faces of people totally willing to call social services.2. Adding cinnamon and sugar to the melted butter atop chocolate chip waffles is how Shara would make them.3. Poe will wear what he wants to wear. Cassian didn't have a suit to wear to the funeral, so Poe wouldn't wear his suit. They buried his parents in jeans and white t-shirts and then went to get ice cream. But was this fashion or compassion, already?4. Poe has the brownest eyes he's ever seen, honest-to-God. Sweet hell. It could kill him. Raising his best friend's son will kill him.





	1. Maybe If We Both Tried

**Author's Note:**

> I am the literal queen of burning to death slowly and crying myself to sleep. Enjoy! xo

To him, only four things are certain:

  1. Poe believes that he will swirl down the shower drain with the soapy suds and rubber duck if someone isn't standing there with him. Cassian left the bathroom for only a minute, like -- fucking  _three_ seconds -- to get his phone, and Poe screamed so loudly that the couple in the neighboring complex came to the door with the stern faces of people totally willing to call social services.
  2. Adding cinnamon and sugar to the melted butter atop chocolate chip waffles is how Shara would make them.
  3. Poe will wear what he wants to wear. Cassian didn't have a suit to wear to the funeral, so Poe wouldn't wear his suit. They buried his parents in jeans and white t-shirts and then went to get ice cream. But was this fashion or compassion, already?
  4. Poe has the brownest eyes he's ever seen, honest-to-God. Sweet hell. It could kill him. Raising his best friend's son will kill him.



 

.

 

"We can't get a pet yet," he says for the eighteenth time. "I just want you to know that. Petting them is really fun, but we can't bring one home."

"You already told me," Poe says. Obliviously, happily, he presses both his hands to the corgi's ears, goes  _grrr_ at him with laughing, eye-crinkling, five-year-old happiness. "I love you, dog. Can you give me your paw? Hand," he instructs the pup, "hand!"

"I want to make sure you're hearing me, though," Cassian says, going on nineteen. "We can't get a pet. The apartment doesn't allow them, buddy. It's not a matter of me doubting your responsibility or anything, it's just the rules."

"But look at his fluff!" Poe whines, practically gaping in horror at Cass like he's some dog-hating monster. Already, he's forgotten all memory of the logic, all the foundations of the rules this trip to the humane society was contingent upon. "We can't leave him here! They're mean to pets here!"

"No, they aren't, buddy; look at how happy all the dog-dogs are. See? They have toys and food, shhh," he tries to soothe, 'cause Poe's putting his hands in the corgi's fur, petting him so, so slowly. His bottom lip is starting to quiver, and Christ. "Poe, buddy."

"But he loves me."

"Yeah," Cassian winces, shifting on this very hard floor so he's all crossed applesauce knees. And he's so scared, 'cause.. like. He can't let his kid cry again today. "I can see that Mr. Moose does. You want to tell me about him, about what you read on his adoption form?"

"He is Mr. Moose," Poe states, looking at him with those eyes that will kill him. "He is my dog."

"No," Cassian says like some actual breathing monster. "He's not your dog."

"I'm going to buy him," Poe decides right there. This kid is conviction to compassion at the drop of a hat. "I'm bringing him home."

"You don't have any money," Cass points out gently.

"I know I have life insurance money."

"You know  _what_ ," he seizes, his poor, little dude. "Buddy, you aren't supposed to listen in on my phone calls."

"I know the lawyer's name," Poe sniffs. "He's my friend."

"Okay," Cassian says real thick, this shock that kids actually do listen to everything and  _comprehend_ it like.. okay. Okay. "So giving up your life insurance money would mean you won't ever get to go to college or travel to P. Sherman 42 Wallaby Way Sydney. You really want to give that up for this dog?"

"Yes," Poe says. 

And that would have been enough for Cassian, honestly. Only, like Mr. Moose understands the conversation, he sits like the best boy in the entire world and tilts his corgi head so he's all scruff and dark eyes begging to be adopted.

And Poe, this five year old wonder whom Cassian didn't ever expect to love this much, he has the audacity to continue:  "I have no parents and neither does Mr. Moose and neither do you so we should be a family."

But Poe doesn't even look at him. He can say the words, but he's already moved past it; he's just petting this dog and scratching the happy pup-pup's ears. Cassian gets up, asks the tech. to keep an eye on Poe for just a  _second_ , and he goes to the bathroom and tries not to cry so he can be as strong as that little trooper in there -- the brightest thing in the entire world. This kid that has completely uprooted his life.

He tries to count.

First, to ten -- he needs to breathe, needs to think, needs to count up the cost of rent and the storage bill and the point of even still keeping the one-bedroom apartment that won't allow pets when? He's still sleeping on the couch so Poe can have his bed? Like.. what's the point? And then Poe begins first grade soon, and should he splurge on a private school? How are they going to afford to eat thirteen years from now? Can he provide for a dog? A kid? A kid with Shara's eyes utterly  _haunting_ him with each look. One day when Poe will insist on joining the Air Force, her spirit is going to follow him to his own grave.

"I don't know what to do," he says to no one.

Just, that's when her contact flashes his old jacket and her smile across his phone, and that's when he presses the red button.

"Did you fall in?" Poe half-shouts at him when he walks out of the bathroom. Three people and two dogs turn to look.

"Almost," he cracks. "You want to pay for Mr. Moose, or should I?"

"Really! Cassian!" Poe laugh-shrieks. Mr. Moose is licking at his chin. "I want to pay! Can I have money?"

 

.

 

"You are breaking the law," Poe accuses.

"You shut your mouth," Cassian threatens. "I know where you sleep, kid. You hush."

"This is very illegal, oh, no," Poe sighs, shaking his head like he's tired of this already -- three months of trying to make this work, and he told Cassian he hated him for the first time last Monday.

"What do you want to eat?"

"This is Mexicanly illegal."

"Oh, my God. Poe. Buddy. We have twenty-three minutes to make this hour drive. Are you going hungry or not? You haven't eaten yet."

"All the cereal was gone!"

"That's what happens when you eat it for every meal, Poe. Object permanence."

"I want tacos," he reluctantly decides, kicking his feet against the back of the driver's seat. At least, until Cassian gives him a  _look_ from the rearview mirror. 

"Crunchy ones? Soft ones? Do you want the tomatoes? The red stuff?"

"Soft," he mumbles.

In vain, Cassian waits for confirmation on the tomato situation. "..Do you want the chips with it? The hot cheese?"

"A Mexican can not eat at Taco Bell!"

"They can on Sundays!" Cassian practically shouts, clutching the steering wheel a little too tight. "On Sundays, we're Catholic. We aren't Mexican."

"Papa was a Lutheran."

"Do you know what Lutheran believe about Jesus?" Cass quizzes, still stopped here in front of the menu where some teenager is waiting for him to order.

"We're Catholic," Poe repeats. (Because Cassian did, but still -- he's proud.) "I want four chips."

"Just four."

"Yes."

Cassian has to close his eyes. He kinda has to summon the will to live; he's not going to lie. "Tomatoes?"

"The red stuff?"

"Yeah. Yes."

"No."

 

.

 

"I don't want to call you your name," Poe decides.

Which is what Cassian has been dreading and looking forward to -- to name something is to love it. "Poe, bud, you can call me anything you like." Like  _uncle_ or  _Cass_ or -- or  _dad_ , maybe, if  _he_ wanted to, Cassian wouldn't mind it, no, not at all since that's a position of love and respect. And memory, he knows, since Poe is still so little. A little human bean still trying to make sense of why sometimes he sees his mama, he says, and why sometimes he doesn't.

"I don't like your name," he corrects with more clarity. So ruthlessly. "It's weird."

"Okay," Cassian says, just taking that punch like a man. "So don't call me  _Cassian_."

"I will call you nothing."

"Okay," he says again, slowly. He stares down at Mr. Moose, the bestest boy in the whole world, while Poe walks out of the kitchen and into the living room with his blanket cape.

"Did he mean that I'm nothing?" Cass hushes into his phone. "Am I literally nothing to him? Are we roommates, or what?"

 _"He's_ _dissociating_ ," Leia diagnoses as if she's an expert.  _"Give him some space. He's still adjusting. You said he still cries at night. Give him more time to get to know you."_

"But what does he mean?" Cassian begs pathetically. "I thought we were buddies!"


	2. If You'd Listen

"Can't you change your clothes," Cassian bargains. "Can't you wear the dinosaurs tomorrow?"

In response, Poe stomps his left foot. His light-up tennis shoe flashes.

"One day, you're gonna look back on the photos people take of today, and you're going to be angry when you call me 'cause I let you wear your dinosaurs."

"Will not," Poe frowns, all quiet sniffles. "Mama bought me this shirt."

" _Hijo_ ," Cassian practically begs: 11:11, and right on time, his phone is a resonate vibration, his migraine is blurring his vision, and he fully expects the Court to rule him an unfit father, oh, God. "Poe, buddy. If they see you dressed like this, they're going to think I can't provide nice things for you. They're gonna put me down, bud. They're gonna separate us."

"I want to wear this," Poe murmurs with his quivering lip. "I'm a raptor," he says, and that's how this child can quantify the severity, the words he hears and doesn't understand as much as he heartbreakingly  _does_. 

"Poe, please, at least wear some nice trousers?"

"No."

"Poe, yes," he insists, and four minutes later --

He's carrying the squalling kid in his arms and down the stairs. Poe thrashes and cries and  _rages_ because he doesn't get it or still does. When this fun-sized heartbreak shouts at him in the crowded lobby, "I don't want you to be my dad," with all teeth, all the grief he's still learning to vocalize.

Cassian tries to set Poe down as much as the boy's trying to dive from his arms. It's a desperate fight to hold onto Poe so he doesn't run, Cass's hands achingly gentle across his arms. "Stop it."

"No!" Poe screams.

And he's kicking, and he's flailing, and that woman from 4A, she's burning holes through them from the mailboxes. "Poe, quit it," he snaps harshly -- quietly. He doesn't want a scene. He didn't even want this, just..  _God._ Why him?

"I want home," Poe cries; "I don't want  _you_ , I want my papa."

"I want him, too," Cassian hisses, catching Poe's hand in his before he can smack at his face. "Don't ever hit me."

"I don't want  _you._ "

"Poe. I swear to God."

"I don't want you!" he shouts again before starting to outright sob, suspended there with his dark eyes so red.

"I didn't want you either," Cassian says. (Just, he did cry harder than Shara did when Poe was born.) And now to his complete lack of surprise, Poe begins snotting all over his face, crying harder for his dead folks and this situation he had no say in. Everything he's lost.

"Why did they die, Cass? I told them not to."

"I don't know."

"Why!" Poe demands with new energy, trying to pull free from his grip. "Why?"

"Buddy," Cassian whispers. Subtext:  I don't know. I'm sorry. I love you. "We're going to be late to Court. We need to go."

"No," he whines, but the fight has mostly left him. In Cassian's car, he just cries quietly to himself until he falls asleep -- until Leia, waiting with coffee, looks through the car window and steels Cass with an impressed yet disappointed look.

"Andor, did you drug him?"

 

.

 

"Do you want to take dog-dog to the park? Poe?"

Cassian waits. And waits, and finally pauses  _The X-Files_ so maybe he and the kid can hear each other instead of progressing along in mutual dehumanization. "Poe," he tries again, "Mr. Moose. Park?" 

By the time the pause timer on the television counts to ten seconds, he's already thinking Poe's died somehow -- choked, suffocated by a pillow, poisoned by the toothpaste, fallen and hit his head and lies immobile and bloody -- twelve seconds, and Cassian's shouting and sliding in his socks across the wooden floor, screaming  _Poe_ because it's only been three months and he's already failed, three months, and he doesn't ever want to have to bury curly-haired, gap-toothed  _Poe_ whom he loves more than literally anything else. More than  _anyone_ else (don't think, don't think about her), "Poe! Oh, my God,  _hijo_ , buddy," he gasps.

Staring vacantly up at the ceiling from the bed, Poe doesn't even move. Aside from an empty blink, he doesn't even acknowledge Cassian in the slightest.

"Poe," Cassian tries again, practically laughing 'cause his heart is, like, beating out of his chest -- he's almost sweating, he was so scared. He crawls on the bed next to him, and that does get an annoyed look from the kid only because he's now upset Cassian's weight is squishing the bed unevenly. "What's going on, kid?"

"I'm wondering why life matters," Poe says after a long moment. Like he's some thirty-one-year-old unemployed doctoral degree in philosophy kid -- man -- the eighteen-year-old Cassian will see one day just laying on the couch like he's dead and bored, so critically vacant and elusive after a week of finals, hopefully -- Cassian wants Poe to fret the mundane and the frivolous. He wants him to have that luxury. He doesn't want Poe to keep wondering why people have to die and why life has to hurt.

"Like, why your life matters?" Cassian slowly says. "Like, what is your purpose here on earth?"

"We have air in here," Poe states.

Awkwardly, Cass has to just, like.. confirm. "Yeah. Yeah, buddy, we have oxygen in here. We also have air conditioning if that's -- if that's what you mean."

"Mr. Moose has air in here."

"Yeah?"

"Mr. Moose would rather lay and be comfy than out playing," Poe says. "Mr. Moose is fat."

"Maybe Mr. Moose wants to see the trees," he uncomfortably replies. "Maybe he wants to smell a flower. See a cloud."  _Maybe you should man up and get outside._

"Mr. Moose wants to watch the alley cat movie with the cats."

"He does," Cassian says. "How about after, though?"

"No."

"I'm not supposed to let you watch movies all day, kid. That's not how this works."

"Jim says we're under a heat advisory."

"So you want to swim?" Cassian asks, kinda desperate now for just a way in. "You want to go get ice cream?"

"You said you hate me," Poe resounds with gut-wrenching clarity. "You said you didn't like me."

"What? Buddy --"

"I heard you."

"You heard wrong," Cassian swears. "Poe, I don't  _hate_ you."

"What do you mean?" Poe sniffs.

"What do you mean, what do  _I_ mean? Why would I lie to you, kid? Is -- is this the face of someone who would lie to you?" Cassian honest-to-God asks him in what will be his proudest parenting moment to date.  _I see dead people._  

Comically dubious, Poe turns back to stare at the ceiling. "You could take me to the zoo, if you want."

"If you want," he barely even breathes, practically having a heart attack from the joy. "Wanna go see some dinosaurs? A tiger?"

"Tigers don't live in the zoos."

"Oh, really? Where do they live?"

"With the gorillas."

"Yeah, but where?" Cassian asks, trying not to roll his eyes. "Sub-Saharan African? The Mediterranean? The Galapagos Islands? You must know."

"No."

"Another syllable, kid. Come on. You have to talk to me."

"They live in my heart," Poe murmurs with his wide-eyed defiance. "They are my animals."

"Whatever," Cassian scoffs, trying not to laugh. "Let's go then, Moses. Let's go get the dinosaurs."

"They're dead, you know," Poe sighs. Then with such freaking emptiness:  "I'm dead, you know."

"Poe! Sweet Jesus, kid. Me, too. You need some fresh air. And an exorcist. Do you need me to help you tie your shoes? Poe, bud, don't get Mr. Moose's leash, the alligators will eat him."

 

.

 

_It's me. You know it's me. I don't know why you left or why you quit answering your phone. You know this isn't how this is supposed to work; you know you actually need to talk to me, Cassian. You know love isn't supposed to be like this -- a relationship isn't, and I'm going to need you to pick up the phone. Just pick up, Cass. Pick up! This was never part of the deal. You never even said you were leaving. God, you've made me such a fool, darling. A stupid, lovesick fool, and one day, these messages are going to end. I'm going to be brave enough for good-bye, Cassian. But not if you pick up. Christ, just pick up the phone! Cassian. You aren't responsible just because you were the one driving._

 


	3. I Wish You Were Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this has been a bit of a wait! For those of you who knew them, I feel like this fits into the universe of my other Star Wars stories! Can't I write something without crying? Enjoy, dears! I won't wait so long before the next chapter, promise! xx

"Okay, no, like -- kid. Buddy. I really don't know if you're serious, if you, like -- expect me to  _right now_ explain the subject of commerce and tariffs and trade regulation and GMOs."

"Yes," Poe whispers, wide-eyed, half of Cassian's heart just standing there in the grocery store, his bright blue raincoat still weighing him down from April's drought.

"You're kidding."

"No," Poe decides, rainboots squeaking down Aisle 3. Toilet paper. 

(Now see, this is where Cassian actually attempts to be a good parent. In the sense of decision-making and critical thinking skills, at least. He will let Poe pick out his clothes and choose a canned vegetable for dinner and decide everything Cassian ever does in his entire life ever, apparently. It's a democratic household.)

"The one with the bears," Cassian helpfully points out so he doesn't get lost. "What's that number on the package read?"

"Two," Poe kinda shouts, all four feet away.

He's going to be waiting forever. "And?"

"Two," he says again, up on his toes to push the twenty-four pack into the cart.

"..Which adds up to?" Cassian says with his eyes closed 'cause like -- how is he supposed to even try if  _today_ is any indication Poe won't need his college fund.

"This lasts a week?" he asks. He's the child-king of redirecting. He is exactly the kind of child J.M. Barrie based Peter Pan on. Any second now, and Poe will cut off Cassian's hand

"A week for twenty-four toilet rolls?"

"What else do I need to buy?" Poe moves on, one hand on the cart to steer it slowly past the napkins.

"What else are  _you_ going to buy? Kid."

"Yeah."

"I buy the groceries."

"With me," Poe tells him obviously. "I do."

"Yeah, okay. What do you think you want for dinner?"

"I want to ride in the cart," he says.

"You just asked to be taken out of the cart."

"I changed my mind."

"Do you want options for dinner?" Cassian asks. "Let's try to make a decision first."

"I want candy," Poe slumps as if he's all exhausted. They're still in Aisle 3, though.

"Maybe after. Do you want burgers? Pasta? Sandwiches?"

After a long, long moment -- the stock market has probably fluctuated a few points; they reach Aisle 5, and Cassian is sure Poe is ignoring him -- he answers in one, droll monosyllable:  "Fish."

"But do you eat fish?" Cass asks, adding that exaggerated, low-pitched, doubtful lilt to his tone which should imply  _no._ Poe does not eat fish.

"I love fish."

"Have you ever eaten fish?"

"With Mama," Poe says.

(Now see, this is the smartest kid in the world. He brings up his parents because he knows they end conversations -- he knows there's a sense of obligation that has Cassian giving into anything he wants, he just doesn't know  _why_ and is too young to think of asking.)

So Cass buys shrimp. And trout. And he fries it, and he really tries, too, because once there was a dream that was culinary school (that was novelist, that was politician, that was meteorologist, that was a  _family._ That was more than himself in this life that now isn't just him, it's two ghosts and a kid, and it's so,  _so_ hard listening to this boy cry at night, like -- Jesus  _hell,_ he's so sorry, he's so sorry).

He's really doing everything he can for Poe. He's praying as he cooks that this kid will like it, the lemon butter, the glaze, the crisp, fried layer coated in spices, but it --

\-- it just ends up on the floor.

And Poe is eating pizza rolls with Mr. Moose on the floor while  _Anastasia_ sings about her home on the television, and Cassian doesn't know if he's unhappy or not. He doesn't.

 

.

 

 He's certain of four things, now:

  1. Ice cream will solve anything. It will. Disappointment, anger, hurt, hatred. Ice cream calms these things in Poe when Cassian inevitably causes them.
  2. Poe's allergic to finned fish. Poe's allergic to salmon.
  3. A daycare is just as scary for Poe as it is for Cassian. Poe cried, Cassian screamed when this six year old terror ran at them with a plastic ninja sword, when another five year old screamed something about a  _drug bust,_ and so day care is no longer an option. Cassian brought Poe with him on his first day back to work, but instead of being cute -- instead of Poe feeling inspired and compelled to be exactly like Cassian in everything he does, he ran away.
  4. He needs to find out what the attachment to Austin, Texas, is. He needs to know why this five-year-old was going to take a cab there.



 

.

 

"Who's that?" Poe asks. He doesn't know why Cassian stares at instead of answers his phone when it rings, but he recognizes the name each time -- he knows enough to infer it's the same person, that it's a  _girl._

"Nobody," Cassian smiles. It's thin-lipped, it's cheesy. He and the kid are splitting half to a grilled cheese sandwich each. They're on the floating patio four stories up with their dog between them, and it's so impossibly American. It's such a white lie, and he swore he wasn't going to keep any truths from Poe.

"She calls you everyday," Poe says like he's so comically sure. "Four times."

Cassian nods, chews. Waits for his kid to get around to his point.

"She'd stop calling if you talked."

"You know," Cass sighs. So they're doing this now. Freaking fantastic. "You make a fine point about communication, bud."

"No."

"Maybe we should talk more," he redirects. "I am trying, you know."

"No," Poe says, happily kicking his feet. "Just eat. Hush."

 

.

 

She was pregnant when they got married.

Five months, and he's holding onto her belly in all the pictures; he's holding  _her_ , and he's this loud, open-mouthed, laughing presence that's so vocal and certain and charming and obnoxious and _hers_ that it's so easy to forget sometimes -- that Ben is half hers when he's Han's crooked nose and slow, childish smile. Intent and focused and hysterical and such a joy -- such a blessed, beautiful joy that's going to be very sad one day twelve years from now when he forgets how to live like he's laughing. 

He's an astronaut, and he's a prince. He's a pirate, and he's a knight, squire, sorcerer, gladiator, engineer. 

Poe is an astronaut, prince, pirate, knight, squire, sorcerer, gladiator, and engineer, too; they've been playing pretend for the last two hours; Cassian has asked himself why.

"I asked the nice girl that lives next door with her mom to watch him for me yesterday. I had to go to the bank, and everything's easier without him, you know."

"I know," Leia sighs. "Yesterday, Ben said that the Christmas lights were pretty, so I'm looking at each house we pass for some sign of lights, and do you know what my child meant?"

Cassian can only imagine.

"There was an ambulance across the street with the lights on. I had to ask myself if he knew the difference or not."

"Their minds are so precious," he half-heartedly believes. "Everything is always new, and he's right about everything all the time, he's so sure of it. And I'm going to fail him," he kinda chokes, his mouth suddenly so dry. "Jesus Christ."

"Pull it together, Cassian."

"The girl, she called me within fifteen minutes to ask if my  _son_ spoke any English. How am I supposed to know? I don't know how bilingual he is. I don't know which languages he has a foot in. I didn't know he could speak Spanish that well. I don't know why he doesn't try to talk to the babysitter."

"You told her he was your son?" Leia asks sharply. Not like she's accusing, not really. But since the Courts were stuck for a while on the alcohol levels in the blood --

"Of course not. I haven't explained him to anyone. He's just now a child," he pensively sulks. A child he's still failing everyday; God, now he knows why Han was so,  _so_ scared to be a father. Not that he'll ever tell Leia, but now he understands the running, the ruin, the darkening, parallel white lines in the rearview mirror. "The other tennants probably think I kidnapped him. He certainly acts like it."

"Not if he calls you  _papa_ ," she points out. Just twisting the knife in his vertebrae, Brutus. "Everyone knows that in Spanish."

Cassian shakes his head. It's like everything is good, yes, with that blessed, beautiful, little mind who seems to be recreating Lucy's wardrobe with a cardboard box, now. Nothing can be that good, though, because they both still hurt, and they're both still learning to adapt. "I doubt that. I'm not even sure if he talks to the therapist. He never wants to go."

"Yeah, but are you going to be the parent or not?"

"You know I take him. It's Court-prescribed. I'm not going to jeopardize his life because he can throw a tantrum."

"You can start treating him like the lawyers aren't going to take him away," Leia says.

"Says the lawyer," Cassian scoffs. "We almost missed an appearance. I'm so scared, Leia. I'm so damned terrified he's going to end up in the system and then on the street. I don't think he could make it."

"That won't happen," she calmly tries to assure him.

Yet, she does think of Ben. She had the privilege of the unconditional desperation that comes with being a parent because she's lived it. Cassian hasn't. 

 

.

 

"Cassian," Poe tries. "Uncle. Dad. Cass. Cass. Cass!"

He will be seventeen, and he will be the most beautiful thing Cassian's ever seen, someday.

"Father. Or should I say  _grand_ _father_ , ha. Oops. You know how it is," he says, gesturing vaguely. "Or maybe you don't. Monk." He waits. And waits. 

"If the baby's a boy, I'll name it after you. Even if it's a girl, I guess. Cassiopeia would be kinda pretty, constellations and stars and memory and all that.

"Cassian. I'm, like, gonna die of starvation, like, in thirty seconds.

Dad, seriously," Poe says, seconds short of whinging. "Are you listening to me?"

"Yes," Cass says, not even looking up.

"Sure," Poe sighs. Then without much ado, he kinda just -- flops. Throws himself on the couch so he's all shoulders and curly hair against Cassian's arm. "What'd I say, then?"

"Offer my congratulations to whichever girl you impregnated. I hope it's Rey. Should I send her a giftbasket?"

"Can we go eat, now?" Poe flusters, shifting just so, giving his arms more room in that old leather jacket.

"It depends. What do you think of the corruption of Catholicism in regards to child labor in Romantic England?"

"I think:  _yes_ ," Poe articulates really rather eloquently, so surefire and concise. "Is that the right answer?" In his pocket, his phone vibrates with a text message. Ben, two minutes ago,  _you're gonna be late._

"I'm not sure," he says. "I didn't think anything of it until now."

"Oh," Poe hums. 

Cassian sets the essay down on the coffee table, reaching, and Poe just lets him have that crisis of faith in peace for about five seconds.

"We have to really go, though," he whispers unnecessarily. 

"Okay," Cass agrees. "Come on. We'll run to Taco Bell."

 


	4. Mistake It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm like actually crying? Anyone want to weep for them with me? <3

"You're absolutely right," he says into his phone. "We can't keep doing this."

("I'm sorry," he wants to say.

"I know I didn't try."

"I know I shouldn't have left."

"I know I should have asked you to come with me."

"I'm sorry I decided for you. I'm sorry I let myself hate you. I'm sorry the mirror hurts. I'm sorry I drink. I'm sorry I wasn't the man you needed. Or wanted. Or knew I could be. I'm sorry I let you believe in a life where we could be happy. I'm sorry I pulled out one of your teeth. I'm sorry it's raining today. I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I didn't ask you to come with me. I wish I had. I wish you were here, now. I wish I could take it all back, all of it, even the last four years. I wish I could try again with you. I'm sorry I didn't believe in you, too. I'm sorry I didn't believe in your love or in your grace. I'm sorry I believed too much and then blamed you. I'm sorry that I thank God you weren't in the car that night. I'm so fucking thankful, Jyn; I fall to my knees, and I bow my head, and I weep in utter gratitude for my many blessings. I'm sorry I'm so guilty. I'm sorry I lied to you, once, when you asked what I was thinking, when I could have decided to stay. I'm sorry you still call me everyday. I'm sorry that the one time you don't, I'm falling down and I'm helpless, Jyn. Why didn't you call? Are you okay? I need to know, Jyn. I'm so sorry. I'm so,

 _so_ ,

so sorry. I love you so much.")

"Bye."

 

.

 

"You're absolutely right," she says. "We can't keep doing this."

"That's it?"

"He said good-bye," she grants him. "Charming manners. Quite well-to-do. A bit distant, though."

"Very elusive," Bodhi agrees. "Very dissociative." 

"Oh, he's good at that," Jyn suddenly grins, grins because this beautiful, precious darling is sweet baby noises and sweet baby smell. "Isn't he, my dove? My lamb," she coos, holding her dear close to her chest, her dark purple swimsuit top. "Shall we go for a splash? Do you want to, angel?"

"Yes," Bodhi answers from inside the kiddie pool. It's bright blue plastic, small, round circumference is barely large enough for just his torso -- he's all upturned knees, a joyful face as bright as the sun. The wind a slight turn, and the clothes on the line a scent of fresh linen, lavender, and tea:  Chirrut on the porch with Baze, their wooden deck a haven and a private moment alone.

"Give me my best girl," he says, and so she does, kissing that chubby baby cheek, ensuring her little pink hat is straight before she's passed to Bodhi's chest. "Doesn't one just make you want more?"

"Sometimes," she thinks, humming. "Oh, here, to cover her feets."

"Her feets," Bodhi mimics, British  _just so_. He covers her with Jyn's (Cassian's) old t-shirt, all baby pudge legs and feets and back protected from the sun. "I think I'll take seven."

Jyn snorts. And like she knows, her dear girl gurgles, too, happy hands patting on Bodhi's chest. "I think you better start dating again."

"I think Luke had better just come back," he says. "You ever think of just getting on a plane? Going over there to him and saying:   _surprise!_ Let's climb Everest together. Let's find this ancient temple together. Let's get married in India or Thailand or the Maldives before some religious cult has you take a vow of celibacy,  _surprise_."

"Does he send you postcards?"

"And phone calls when he's able. It's all so generic and friendly, though, like  _Bo, I saw a goat today and was reminded of you_."

She half-chokes, stretches out on the grass, pokes at one of his tanned legs with her toe. "Quite complimentary. He should have packed a phone before going backpacing."

"Bikepacking," he hates himself for knowing to correct. "Pretentious hipster piece of--"

"No!" Jyn cuts him off. Just, to keep it from sounding aggressive to precious angel's ears, she's taken to saying  _no_ like it's a joke, like she's laughing, like Bodhi, she's going to smile as she kills you for swearing in front of baby dear. "No,  _no_ , that word's a naughty one, isn't it?"

"Please. I do know he had Leia mail him more Zip-Loc bags."

"Naturally."

"For his Polaroid pictures."

"Has he sent any to  _National Geographic_ _?"_

"Come off it," Bodhi laughs. "I don't know. I don't know what he wants." Idly, he dips his hand in the cold pool water, lets the droplets drip onto his baby's arms. "How old, now?"

"Five months," Jyn tells him. "Isn't she getting so big?"

"When do you stop with the month thing? Like, take her to the doctor when she's five -- oh, date of birth? December 20, 2018,  _yes, she's 67 months old now. Give or take one or twelve, I always for_ \--stop," he laughs since she's outright cackling on the grass. Open-mouthed and chortling and so pretty, so sad, "Yes," he amends just so she can resume breathing. "She  _is_ getting bigger. Aren't you, Rey? Yeah, baby. Look, Jyn! She's put her hand in the water, brave girl!"

"Oh, sweet dove!" she coos, scrambling up to see this wonder utterly master life with her strong little baby fists. "Do you want to swim, dear? Shall we try? Baze!" she calls, holding up her hand. From the porch, Chirrut waves in her direction, bless him. "Bring the camera!"

 

.

 

"I have to read the rules," Cassian tells him. "This is an equal and fair household."

"I know the rules," Poe swears, right as he moves his pawn from a licorice crossing to the Candy Castle. "I win," he says.

While Cass just stares at him, Poe kinda sniffles, second-guesses the entire situation like a child would and so moves Cassian's peace to Candy Castle, too. "We win. Right?"

 

.

 

"Don't you ever think about it?" Bo asks her again. "Getting on a plane? Take her, show him, say _I'm here, honey, now kiss me_ , and --"

"You think we talk to each other like that? Say things like  _shut up and kiss me?"_

"I don't pretend to know your personal life," he affronts. "I don't know what you call him. But do you ever think about it? He's stubborn, and he's an idiot, but it's been so long. It's been a year. When's long enough actually long enough to cut your losses and try to be happy, Jyn?"

"I told him:  patience," she says, her voice so clear but with that level-headed note of clarity that's panic and tears threatening to brim up from the surface, Jesus  _Christ_. "I told him that time didn't matter."

"I think you lied. Or here," he says, knowing the feeling of her glare too well. "I think you overestimated yourself. It's fine to put yourself first, too."

"I am," she says. And when she looks over at her little Rey of sunshine, her perfect angel, "I'm  _happy_."

"So you're happy without him?"

"With him."

"Didn't he break up with you today? Over the phone? Did we interpret that differently? I'm not trying to fight, Jyn."

"You're doing a wonder of a job at it," she snarks. "It isn't over until it's over," she says. "We have thirteen days."

"And then what?"

"And then we prove couples can survive separations? What do you mean, and then what?"

Bodhi really doesn't want to say it; he doesn't. Just, he knows Cassian  _so well_. He knows his mind. He knows Jyn. "If he still grieves and can't come back to you and Poe still grieves, what are you going to do?"

Jyn's quiet for a little too long. It's almost funny when she regains her voice. "Cry?"

"That's a nice start," Bo sighs, reaching down to pull her off the floor and onto the couch. "Then what? Tally-ho?" he suggests, trying so,  _so_ , so hard to keep his voice calm. "Back to England?"

 


	5. To Let You Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you loves mind the chapter shots? I know some of you know my chapters that were sheer thousands of words and hours long, so do you mind the shorter, more frequent bits when time allows? Let me know, loves, and enjoy! <3

"Just because it's Christmas," he would have said. _Kiss me_. 

Because at that breaking point between too tired and so sad and perpetually disparate and utterly agonized, there was the long stretch of highway, the distance between them that was never supposed to be distance because they were going to  _try_ (because she wanted to marry him and bear his children and take his name and love him forever, she swore,  _forever_ when she's never kept a calendar or had a plan for her entire life since people run and she was always so scared and never had a chance to see others prove this time was different), the long stretch, parallel lines in his rear-view mirror, Poe's stuffed animal frog in the backseat:  him on his way to her.

He drives eighteen hours and has drank $11 worth of cheap gas station black coffee. 

He drives eighteen hours and has almost pulled the car around twice. He has struggled with his conscience and his doubt and her hurt and so hates himself for still expecting her to wait for him, to actually  _be_ where she promised she would be while he tried to clear his head, while he tried to battle his demons and vanquish his guilt like proverbial dragons, like the toy knight in his glove box because Poe likes to feel braver than he actually is, too. (These poor, poor broken men.)

Halfway there, he thinks to call her to at least  let her know to expect him. To give her time to dust or shop or lock the doors and windows. Halfway there, he thinks calling her will result in being told to turn around, to let  _her_ heal, now, because he promised he would never leave her, too, and now he's been shot to hell. He can only put her through so much when he isn't there to take half the burden and kiss her laughing, desperate mouth to bravery. He can't expect her to still wait. He  _can't_. 

He's tried to prepare himself for the worst of it then,  _just in case_. 

Across the country, Poe is being read by Leia  _A Christmas Carol_. He and Ben have eaten three-too-many iced sugar cookies and have scammed Han while playing Monopoly and have wished their respective Christmas wishes of good cheer and gifts and ghosts.

Across the country, Poe hates him, too, but he doesn't. Not really. Less and less each day, almost.

Across the street and through the open window, though, there's Jyn pacing back and forth, blushing red, blue, green, and yellow. Tinsel in her hair and Christmas lights all around. Bodies that seem to move around her and gesture and laugh and press their arms to her back, the pink in her hands, the baby, he thinks. Just, he's counting,  _counting_ , five months -- no, four -- three --

 _two_ _, one_. _"I_ _need to see you,"_ came her voice over the line.  _"It's so important, honey. The conversation shouldn't happen over the phone,"_ she was saying, and he meant to call her,  _he did_ , but he was in courtrooms. He was in doctor's offices and debating with a social worker and fucking listening to his brown-eyed godson cry all the time without being able to do anything about it. If he missed this -- that. Them, then he's -- 

He ducks down because Jyn and Baze, he recognizes, head to the window and point.

There's a cat on the deck, bright white in the midnight darkness. Framed by Christmas lights, Jyn moves her arms, shows her baby the outside world, and laughs.

Cassian doesn't know why he runs, really. He just does. 

 

.

 

"She'll need to be christened," Jyn says to no one in particular, talking aloud over an essay about Marxist theories as applied to Poe's  _Amontillado_. "Church of England, hmm?"

"Absolutely not," Chirrut says. "Not unless we plan on arranging a marriage between her and the little Prince George."

"Don't tempt me," Jyn teases. "We'll send her away to an English boarding school, hmm?"

"Don't eat my hair, dear," Baze says to the little culprit. "Is she progressing far enough mentally?"

"I've been wondering about that," Bodhi calls, coming out of the kitchen with an apron, overmitts. "See, I was reading this article, right?"

"See, he was reading," Chirrut cracks, somehow looking directly at Baze who makes a grunting  _tsk_ of awareness for him, smirking against Rey's baby hair.

"I don't think  _Chirrut_ sees, but go on."

"She should be playing with blocks and kid puzzles by now. Rey needs to know her shapes and start recognizing colors and object permanence if she's ever going to attend university one day."

"She will," Jyn defends, scrunching her nose. "She's the smartest dove I know. She'll be a legacy in eighteen years, don't worry."

"Instead of puzzles," Baze says, "she uses her feet for toys. I think he's right. We have to make sure she reaches these developmental milestones."

"She will," Jyn says again. "Her preferring to giggle while playing  _peekaboo_ doesn't mean she won't be smart."

"Do they ask that on college applications?" Bodhi wonders.

"Ask what? Mental milestones?"

"Do they ask if your child was christened to a certain faith at infancy? If she's destined for Yale, we need to keep her ecumenical."

"Oh, go on," Jyn chides him, rolling her eyes at his mocking tone. "Go finish dinner."

"She'll need godparents," Chirrut reminds them all. Which would have been a forbidden subject, a testament of bad luck, but  _now_ that they know there's something to lose -- "In case?"

"God forbid," Jyn says. "This student used a  _y_ in  _catastrophic_. The future of literature. Oh, does anyone have the time?" 

 

.

 

_"Cass, it's me. My day's been progressing very well, thank you. Just fine. It's sunny today, did you know? I -- I went swimming, sort of. Sort of, did you hear that? That's so American. The Queen is weeping. I almost went swimming, mind you. The pool was plastic and nearly as big three feet round, I think, but since meteorologists think we're destined for another drought, the cool water was a relief. It really reminded me of the beach when I closed my eyes and lay there on the grass, wind and water sounds in the background. Do you think of the beach often? Have you been? You should take him. You should try, Cassian, like -- for the love of God. I can hear your broken heart all the way across the country. Why don't you ever pick up the phone?"_

 


	6. We Left It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy, dears! <3

"Poe, you don't have any other choices."

" _No_ ," he inflects, clear and mournful, and he's on the verge of tears so devastating, so rampant, so helplessly that Cassian doesn't know what to do."

"Poe, buddy, you said you didn't want a babysitter, right?"

"Yes," he sniffles, completely slack so that if he wasn't holding Cassian's hand, he'd fall down.

"You said you wanted to come to work with me."

" _Yes_."

"Now you're saying you want to leave, kid, but you can't. There aren't any other options today. You have to come in and sit and be good for me, right, buddy? Right?" He's just short of begging. On the opposite end of the street, there's what looks to be a St. Bernard puppy, young and giant. Floppy-eared and long-legged. Poe keeps tearfully staring, pulling at Cass's arm in a way that makes sense now (this is why Kes always complained about his back), and Cassian just -- he can't. "Poe, right? You can't run this time. You have to stay inside the entire time we're there."

"How long is that?" Poe murmurs, impossibly brown eyes turning red and redder.

"It's -- it's a long time," he says. It's all he'd hear, anyways. "More than a few hours, Poe, but I'll keep checking on you. I'll get you lunch at noon, right?"

"I want that dog-dog."

"Poe, right? Can you acknowledge me, hijo? Can you please just.. nod?"  _God._ She would know what to do. She would.

Balefully, he holds himself upright. He squeezes his hand as tight as he can. "I don't want to go in there, Cass."

"Just today. We'll figure something out for Thursday tomorrow, okay? Maybe you can go see Han and Ben, yes?"

"Yes," Poe sighs. Tomorrow's a little too far away. "I could of stayed home with Mr. Moose."

"You could have," he says. "Come on, buddy."

"This isn't a daycare facility, Andor," Hux says the  _second_ he gets this slow-poke child inside. They had to go say hi to the dog-dog. His name was Gus, and Poe just kinda put his hands in his fur, whispered  _I love you so much_ in a way that Cassian just can't comprehend. This child. This freaking kid, God damn.

"I don't know what else to do," Cassian sighs. "Poe, the waiting room, see? Go count the fish," he says, nudging him towards the large Aquarium. "Where do you store your child?"

"Where does he  _what_ his child?" asks Jill the receptionist. She's perpetually blonde and forever chewing gum. 

"English," Cass sighs, just. Gesturing. Up to God. "Where do you keep your child?"

"Military boarding school."

"Oh."

"He's top in his class already," Brendol brags as he puts on his lab coat. "My wife's been having me practice saying  _I'm proud of you_ so I can tell him on his next break."

"Yeah," Cassian says like that's actually really normal. "Perhaps just send a card. How old's Armie?"

"308 fishes," Poe calls from the kiddie waiting area. "I counted the fish."

"Good job, buddy." He's, like, actually dying slowly. "I'm so proud of you, Poe."

"Can you turn on the TV?"

"I sure can, sweet pea," Jill just gushes. "Dr. Andor, he's gorgeous. What's he allowed to watch?"

" _Grey's_ should be starting to marathon on LifeTime," he shrugs. "He wants to be Derek."

"Don't we all?"

"He's eight," Brendol says unsurely, snapping. "Armitage has just turned eight."

"This year?"

"Maybe next."

"Right," Cassian says. "Jill, keep an eye on him, please? If anyone tries to take Poe out the door, scream?"

"I'll try my best. Mrs. Fritz will be in by 9:15. Just a dental cleaning, then two extractions later today."

"Better them than me."

"Isn't that the truth?"

"A Good Man Is Hard to Find," he quips.

"You can say that again."

"There's a lot of static out there."

"Ice cream cones," she says.

"If you both are finished?" Hux says brusquely. "Go ahead and open up."

 

.

 

_"I'm not going to lie, Leia, I spent two weeks looking for evidence of Bigfoot."_

"Please don't tell me that," she says, somehow managing to color a drawing of Captain America with Ben while mixing a batter of chocolate chip cookie dough while still yet sighing in exhausted long-suffering. "Tell me you're doing something brilliant with your philosophy degree, like teaching at Oxford."

_"I was offered a position at Stanford."_

"Luke, don't joke! What's wrong with you?"

 _"I'm on a pilgrimage, Leia."_  

"God's sake, you would have had a salary."

_"Tonight, I'm eating fish for dinner. I caught the blue gill with my bare hands."_

"Jesus Christ, Luke. You're being safe, aren't you? You aren't being excessively dangerous?"

_"I was thinking about going mountain climbing next month."_

 

 "Something local, hmm?"

_"Well, sorta. Everest."_

"Luke Skywalker!"

And recognizing  _that_ tone, Ben anxiously looks up from his drawing. He always gives Steve a metal arm, just like Bucky (and just like grandpa). 

_"Now's the perfect time, Leia. I'm here. It's there. What else is there do? I've climbed the Matterhorn, stood at the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro. You know how the definition of compassion means that you take on the burden of suffering from someone else? I think that's what I have to do. After that, I think I can find it."_

Does she really even want to know? "Find what, Luke?"

_"The temple."_

"Just come home? It's been months, Luke."

 _"After."_  

 "How about tomorrow?"

 _"I do want to come back,"_ he has this need to say, like she doubts him even now.  _"I will. I want to see the baby, anyways. I want to see my lover."_

"Luke, I have you on speaker phone. There are children's ears listening."

_"If Han doesn't understand how sex works by now --"_

"Bye, Luke," she interrupts him quickly. "Be safe. I love you."

 

.

 

He did turn around. That night.

Christmas. 

He stopped the car twice, and he sat in the driveway for thirty-six minutes, and he drove an hour's way home before he ended up right back there on the gravel road --  _distance_. It's always been just a circle. 

Chirrut took pity on the cat at about midnight, stumbled out onto the porch in his slippers with a bowl of milk. From inside, Baze shouted something about feeding the strays --  _pests_ \-- and warm laughter rang out open-mouthed, bright. Bodhi's guiltless, grinning face so untethered from the window. Jyn so beautiful and merry. Chirrut looking straight at him from the deck, ice frozen on the rail he uses as a guide down the stairs, muscle memory like instinct and compassion and pity bringing him to driver's side window. 

"It's me," Cassian said obviously, apologetically, just.. just in case. "Cassian."

"Who else?" Chirrut asked. "Come inside."

"I don't think I can."

"That's why you should," he encourages. "It's Christmas. No one should be alone on Christmas."

"She's not alone," he says.""She's happy."

"All houses are brighter with a baby's laughter," he responds, nonplussed. "Come inside. I miss how warm Baze is."

A little bit too gruff, he turns away, never mind how Chirrut hears it. "Thank you, but I don't think she wants to see me now."

"Why wouldn't she?"

"I wasn't here," Cassian says like it's killing him. Like it still is, and he's been in agony for weeks, months:  lonely, ostracized, forgotten and guilty and broken and sorry. So, so sorry. He didn't mean to let her down.

"Have Kes and Shara risen from the dead?"

"Of course not."

"Then she understands."

"If I left her, Chirrut, without knowing she was pregnant," he chokes, a hard, bitter laugh. "I'm just like my father. I'm just like  _her_ father. We were supposed to be better. I meant to be better. I did."

"Jyn didn't say she was pregnant. No wonder she cried often."

"Yeah," Cassian sniffs, "well." A bitter part of him thinks that it doesn't matter, but doesn't it? "It's a girl?"

"How should I know if she didn't carry to term?"

"Chirrut,  _my child_ is inside there," Cassian practically hisses. He wants to be angry she never told him, but can he be angry that he wasn't here to know, that against it all, it's coming down to her and him, time and distance and trust. "She would have  _told_ me, Chirrut, I know it. I swear to God. I wouldn't have made her go through this alone. I'm better than that. Not a _single_ phone call."

"Cassian," Chirrut softly soothes him, reaching through the open window to press his palm against his cheek. Or nose. "Cassian, selfish wretch," he says gently. " _My child_ is inside there. The adoption agency phoned Baze two nights ago."


End file.
